


The Letters Kept

by Dirty_Corza



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes (Downey films), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-18
Updated: 2013-02-18
Packaged: 2017-11-29 17:17:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/689479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dirty_Corza/pseuds/Dirty_Corza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even a thousand miles away, Watson was still by Holmes' side. Someday Holmes might even tell him so.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Letters Kept

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Random_Nexus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Random_Nexus/gifts).



> Written for Random Nexus' prompt, which was "Home" by Michael Buble.

He had to be careful of when he stopped by Watson's place to check up on him. Not because he was worried Watson would suspect anything, no. He was sure his friend would be oblivious to any and all visits he made. His friend's wife, however, was a different story. Mary Watson was a woman worthy of his best friend's hand. She took care of him, kept an eye on him, and she was sharp. Sharp enough that Sherlock didn't often risk her catching some sign of his presence around their place.

He kept finding himself there, though, dressed as a begar, a cripple, a woman, he went through his share of disguises, all to stop by and see that there was a light on in the window in the evening, that Christmas came and went with the smiling faces of friends in the windows. 

Each time he entered a new city, he penned a new letter, updating Watson of his progress, telling him the newest details of his work, and, with a smirk on his face, telling him about the various pretty women he'd met along the way. None of them were ever sent, of course. By all rights, he should have burned then instead of keeping them in a satchel strapped to his side under his clothing. It would have been safer to make no letters at all than to risk Watson hearing news of his fate from someone other than him, god forbid even, possibly, from the lips of the man he hunted himself.

But that was the one sentiment Sherlock allowed himself, the illusion of Doctor Watson staying by his side, complete with the jokes he always made about the women his friend thought so fragile when they really weren't. Soon, he promised himself, the illusion would be over.

Soon, he'd walk the streets of London again, head held high. Soon, he'd be dragging his doctor off on another adventure, wife be damned. He blinked away the tears that stung his eyes at the thought. Soon enough, Moran would be caught and he could go back home. For now, though, it was time to put aside illusions and dreams and become embedded again in reality.

No matter what he told himself, Sherlock knew soon wouldn't come soon enough until he could look Watson in the eye once again.


End file.
